


When Love and Death Embrace

by howlhowl



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Extended Scene, F/F, Goth Girls, different POV, femme slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlhowl/pseuds/howlhowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was for the (lj-community) booshslashhaven Challenge #7 : Rewritten/Extended Scenes, and is Nanageddon from the point of view of the Goth Girls and what happens with them when they storm out of the flat, as well as a more indepth look at the pair and their past. I shall say no more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Love and Death Embrace

"What are we doing here again?" Ebola asked adjusting the balancing of her hat on her blond head. The black hat had a massive white feather weighing it down and making it tilt too much to her right. Anthrax pressed the doorbell of the Dalston flat.

"He said he was a warlock. I reckon this is better than sitting in the graveyard in the cold spelling incoherent nonsense on the Ouija board." Anthrax said, and pressed the doorbell.

Ebola sighed and tilted her head more to the right morosely. "You don't actually believe him though, do you?" she asked her friend. Anthrax turned around, and shook her head. "Never the less, I'm bored of the graveyard and the board. And I guess you never know. And if nothing else, he wasn't terribly offensive to the eye."

Ebola sighed again. The night before they had gone to the Black Spider, as usual, and stood vacantly not too far from the bar sipping their Bloody Mary's with the usual forlorn expressions on their faces. She liked Black Spider. It was dark, dingy and horrible, and the music wasn't terribly loud, since shouting just wasn't very... well, gothic. Only cheerful people shout. And she and Anthrax were not cheerful. They were Goth Girls.

Suddenly this stick thin creature had interrupted them and their Bloody Mary's, introduced himself as Obsidian Blackbird McNight or something and told them he was a warlock. Ebola would have laughed in his face, but she didn't laugh. Goths do not laugh. She'd just glared instead. She had ended up watching Anthrax look this bloke up and down, checking out the tight jeans and skinny frame draped in some sort of ripped black netting that revealed quite a bit but not too much. Sure, he wasn't offending to the eye, but she hadn't been best pleased. Anthrax seemed to be ignoring her and on the look out for a Gothic Three-Way, if even that.

\- -

The door opened and Obsidian was behind it, grinning like an idiot, asking them to come in. Anthrax flashed her fangs at him, and climbed up the narrow stairs into the flat, Ebola following her less than enthusiastically. She wished they had gone to the graveyard. At least there she didn't have to share Anthrax with some skinny git claiming he was a sorcerer. They all sat around a pentagram drawn on the living room floor when his watch in the shape of a tower started gonging midnight hour. Top Goth range.

"So, you really a sorcerer then?" she asked.

"Yeah," was the answer.

"When are we gonna do some sorcering?" Anthrax asked, showing off her nice pair of fangs again.

"Right now. Just gonna call up my assistant", he said and rang a little bell. To this cue a taller, older twit came out, hair backcombed, with a moustache and too tight black trousers, that had obviously been borrowed from the other one's wardrobe. As was the t-shirt with a green skull on it. He came in carrying a white book (A white book? What kind of black magic was in a fucking white book?) and making a stupid joke about being the dark side of the moon. Howard Moon was his name. What a twit.

\- - - - -

The sorcering had been a farce. This 'Obsidian' bloke had managed to summon a bouquet of fake flowers and an old lady in a pink cardigan. How terrifying. They had left, Anthrax exclaiming that "This is rubbish!" When they got outside, Anthrax seemed more frustrated than necessary. They decided to wander the streets as it was cold and foggy, with a potential of miserable rain in the air. Actually, the air seemed oddly green. A bit like the first night they had met. They were both 13 years old, stuck in Essex due to their youth and families. They had been living in the same town for their whole lives, only 15 minutes walk from each other, but had never met before, not until the faithful day Anthrax, then called Susan, had walked in front of the car Ebola's dad was driving. She was called Poppy back then. They had been on their way to ballet class, which she never attended again, when all of a sudden this mess of bright neon colours just appeared out of nowhere and smack, bang. Her dad was in a hurry to go back to work, so Ebola had stayed with the girl in the hospital, to make sure she was alright, and lied of course that she was her sister who in reality was perfectly well, reading Dickens in her bedroom. But otherwise the nurses would have made her leave, or wait in the even weirder smelling waiting area with the uncomfortable plastic chairs.

Ebola had not too long before discovered the brooding sounds of the Cure and started circling her eyes with black eyeliner and backcombing her then brown hair (her mother wouldn't let her dye it black or bleach it to death like it was now, saying that she would "look like a two pence whore" in either case) into massive heights, much to her mother's dislike. Despite her newly found gloomy nature, this brightly coloured little black haired girl had somehow fascinated her enough to lie to the nurses and doctors so that she could stay with her. Anthrax wasn't seriously hurt, just a bit concussed and knocked out, and she woke up from her slumber before the day turned into the afternoon with a stranger with big, big hair towering over her bed. "Where the hell am I?" she had exclaimed. "In the hospital. You walked in front of my dad's car." "Oh, right.. Who are you?" and that was how they had met. They had started hanging out constantly, living practically the same neighbourhood. Despite the distance or more like lack of it, they had never met before as they went to different school. They spent hours sitting in their bedrooms, alternating houses, listening to Disintegration and the Siouxsie best of Ebola had found at a charity shop her mother had dragged her to once, teasing their hair and practising applying large amounts of black makeup in between watching gothic horror films, mostly ones with vampires. The first time they had got together after parting around the last stroke of the day they met, Anthrax had abandoned colour completely and turned up at her new friend's front step in all black with big hair and panda eyes giving Ebola's mum a tiny heart attack.

\- - -

Ebola stumbled stepping down off the side walk to cross the street. Not terribly graceful. On top of that, she felt her milky white contact lens come off.

"My milky lens!" she exclaimed. "It's come off. Help, we must find it." And the next second they were both on the ground wet from the rain, looking for it. It seemed to be nowhere to be found. To be honest, Ebola didn't really want to put it back if it was in one of the puddles, so she didn't bother searching them that carefully. Suddenly she felt something alien in her eye that had just lost the spooky white glow over the pupil.

"Oh wait. I think it's just popped round the back," she said, bopping her head to the right trying to get the lens to slide back into its place.

"Wait, let me help," Anthrax said grabbing hold of Ebola's face as they got up from the wet pavement.

Anthrax's gentle touch on Ebola's cold, pale cheek sent shivers down her spine. Her best friend's touch always did. Sometimes more than others, but there was always a bit of tingling sensation involved. And she had touched her beyond the way most people touched their best friends, but it had mostly happened when they or more like Anthrax had had a bit too many Bloody Mary's. Or as a part of a Gothic Three-Way. This broke Ebola's heart more than she wanted to admit.

Suddenly she felt a single rogue tear start trying to find its way out of the corner of her eye. She fluttered her eyelids to make it go away. She really didn't want Anthrax to see it.

But she did see it.

"Are you crying?" she asked, concern dripping from her voice.

Ebola shook her head, choking back a billion more tears trying to force their way out. But Anthrax didn't seem too convinced. "What is it?" she asked, pulling her friend's face closer.

"Nothing," Ebola said and shook her again, this time more forcefully, almost as if she was trying to convince herself as well as friend. As she did so, she felt her lens missing in action pop back in its place.

"Oh my milky lens! It's back in," she declared almost triumphantly.

"Don't try to change the subject." Anthrax sounded determined to find out what was wrong but Ebola wasn't quite sure what it was. OK, so that was a lie. Was she supposed to tell her best friend that she fancied her quite a bit and didn't want to share her with idiots in black mesh tops? She closed her eyes and tried to look away but Anthrax's hold on her face wouldn't let her. She felt her friend's warm breath on her lips, and suddenly soft lips too. Anthrax was kissing her. How dare she? This was what got her in this mess to begin with.

\- - -

One night when they were 17, (24th of November to be exact) they had been chugging a shot of vodka every time there was sexual innuendo between Lestat and Louis in Interview With The Vampire, which they were watching for the umpteenth time for the lack of anything better to occupy their time, and as a simple excuse for some underage drinking. By the end of the film they were both off their faces, and giggling like a pair of mentalists when they had turned to each other, and their faces were so close. Ebola had felt the electricity holding Anthrax in one piece on her lips and cheeks, as well as her breath. The alcohol was playing games with Ebola's judgement and well... But before she did anything stupid, Anthrax had kissed her. Pushed her body against hers and hungry lips smudging the eyeliner they had blackened their lips with. And Ebola kissed her back, more than happily. The kiss had been clumsy at first and laced with vodka and a dash of cranberry juice, but not much more. Their tongues performed a seductive dance with each other's in their mouths as their lips collided again and again.

They fell into drunken slumber in each other's arms on the floor, and that's how they were still when Ebola woke up few hours later. She had never been able to sleep long when drunk. She looked at her friend and panicked. She quickly got off the floor, still in yesterday's clothes, and ran into the bathroom where she slammed her hands on the sink and leaned over to stare at herself in the mirror for what seemed like hours. But it must have not been quite that long, as when she got back in her room, Anthrax was still asleep, curled up on the floor like a baby. Ebola watched her friend resting on the cream carpet reaching out for something that wasn't there. After what again seemed like forever, she lay down on next to her friend, with her back to her. Just in case. As she was dropping off again, she could feel arms wrapping around her.

They never talked about it, or mentioned it. It did however happen again, every once and a while, when inebriated by too much vodka. And every time Anthrax's drunken lips kissed Ebola's, her heart broke a little bit more, because in her heart she knew it was the vodka or the red wine kissing her, not her best friend. She never stopped it from happening, because even if it wasn't real, it was still better than nothing. She beat herself up every time for not having even an ounce of self control. But this time, she wasn't going to let it happen. She was going to just say no.

\- -

She didn't kiss Anthrax back. This time she was going to be strong. Her lips were completely inanimate, frozen, and she took a step back, causing Anthrax to lose her grip on her face and her balance too.

"Don't do that," Ebola's voice was cold. Anthrax looked confused and was just about to express it verbally when Ebola spoke again.

"I'm sick of being your back up plan. Something you turn to when you don't manage to entice some idiot in black leather and mesh combination or purple velvet. Or the third wheel of a Gothic Three-way. I'm sick and tired of it."

"Oh." It looked like Anthrax was now holding back tears. She lowered her head and stared at her boots. Ebola could feel another blurb of honesty crawling up and out of her throat and mouth.

"I want to be the main attraction."

It came out as a whisper, barely audible. But still a lot louder than she had meant. She hadn't meant to put her feelings on a plate like that, open for rejection. She closed her eyes and hoped her friend hadn't heard her. But she had.

"Did you... What?" Came out of Anthrax's mouth.

"Nothing." Ebola shook her head and stared at her feet. She hadn't said it. Maybe if she said it enough times in her head, "I didn't say it. I didn't fucking say it", it would become true, and the memory of it being said would be forever erased. But that wasn't how the world worked.

"What did you say?" Anthrax tried again.

"Nothing," Ebola muttered as she shook her head and stared at her feet. She had not said it. She had not fucking said it. But unfortunately she had, and nothing she told herself could change the fact or that Anthrax had heard it. Shit.

Suddenly she felt her friend's fingers on her chin trying to pull lips closer to lips.

"No!" Ebola exclaimed, slightly louder than she had meant, making Anthrax stumble back a few steps. "Did you not hear what I said?" She continued frustrated and angry. Why was she trying to kiss her again? Did she have something fundamentally wrong with her ears?

"I did," Anthrax said quietly.

"Then why are you trying to kiss me again when I told you not to?"

Anthrax turned her head away and mumbled something Ebola couldn't make out. "Sorry, what?"

"Because I want you." She said a bit louder, still hiding from Ebola's stern cold stare. She was shaken by these words, but she had decided to not budge or giving into her friend's charms. Why was she toying with her heart like that? The bitch. She may have been a Goth but Goths are people too, and Goths cry and hurt and want to be happy too. Just not smile or laugh. That wasn't gothic. But looking miserable took a lot of energy, and so did being miserable. She couldn't go on much longer both looking and feeling the part.

"Then why do you drag pathetic males in black and purple velvet from the Black Spider to our flat for a Gothic Three-Way?"

Anthrax turned back and stared straight into her best friend's different colour eyes. "I thought it was the only way..." She let out a deep sigh. "It was always you. Always you."

Ebola was flabbergasted. She must have heard her friend wrong. Surely Anthrax hadn't just said that the wannabe Lestats had just been an excuse to taste of Ebola's pale skin. She sighed, thinking about all the time they had wasted with this stupid game. She looked at Anthrax who was peeking from underneath her black fringe and veil and top hat combo, licking her fangs nervously. Ebola straightened her own hat; the feather was tilting it too much to the right again.

She took a deep, sigh-like breath and pushed her friend against the brick wall of the alley behind them. She pressed her black clad body against Anthrax's and kissed her. First gently, just nibbling at the black lips, then much harder, almost bruising, banging her partner's head against the wall. She tasted like black cherries. She always did. Even that very first time on her bedroom floor.

\- -

Suddenly Anthrax grabbed Ebola by the shoulders and spun them around so it was Ebola against the wall with Anthrax hungrily going straight for her neck with her vampire teeth. They were sharp and painful to a degree, but Ebola was the kind of a girl who liked pain. As long as it was physical, and sexual. And caused by Anthrax. She had never been too keen on those third wheels of those Gothic Three Ways getting rough on her. She had once kicked one in the ghoulies for grabbing her too hard for her liking. She was no push over for the male sex. The foolish fuckwits. But Anthrax, she could get just as rough as she liked. Her long black as the night fingernails were digging into Ebola's shoulders; she was almost sure they were drawing blood.

Anthrax's right hand started wandering down Ebola's left arm, slowly, getting a little bit lost around her chest, giving it a little squeeze that made Ebola gasp of pleasure, and then continuing its journey downwards. It ruffled about in her black skirt area, between the satin and the tulle, searching. It snaked into her black spider lace knickers to caress her clit and make her gasp yet again and wither from pleasure to the degree that her legs almost gave in underneath her.

Anthrax's kisses were both harsh and gentle at the same time. Her sharp teeth nibbled into Ebola's lower lip every other kiss, dragging a bit and then letting go. Ebola could taste a trickle of blood in her mouth. She clung to Anthrax's shoulders to keep upright as her friend's left hand reached even further and grabbed her buttocks while the right continued massaging the other side gently and making Ebola squirm as she got wetter and wetter.

Physically it was pretty much the same as before; Anthrax's teeth still dug into her skin just as deep, almost painful, and fuck, her fingertips sent those tingles up and down Ebola's making her hardly able to stand up. If there hadn't been a wall to lean, to fall against and Anthrax hadn't been holding her like that, she would have surely been on the floor making a dirty watery mess of her dress.

Suddenly, there was a sudden rumble of thunder and the sky seemed to fall open. The storm had been brewing all night, and with the green mist and heavy air, Ebola had tasted a storm as well as Anthrax on her lips. She didn't mind rain; she wasn't made of fucking sugar, more like arsenic and cyanide with a pinch of salt and lime, as if she were a shot of tequila, but rain would surely ruin the magnificent feather on her head. And she liked that feather. She stumbled upright and mumbled against Anthrax' shoulder: "Maybe we should go home, and continue there.." Anthrax pulled away, looking a bit disappointed. "I'll make it up to you," she continued, raising her eyebrow cheekily.

"You better." Anthrax's words had a venomous sting to them but Ebola knew that it was just the way she was. She grabbed the other girl's hand, nails digging into the pale skin and kissed it like a gentleman of the olden days before leading the innocent lady to the slaughter. Or at least loss of innocence.

"Of course."

\- -

As Anthrax and Ebola walked towards their gothic abode, they passed a line of old ladies in front of the local bingo hall. At the end of the queue there stood the Obsidian twit and his hairy faced assistant dressed as Nanas. It was a truly grotesque sight. And definitely not in a good way. Ebola shuddered as they passed them and the idiotic assistant man tried to be suave and addressed them 'Ladies'.

"Nice outfit", Anthrax half giggled as a response, though the giggle wasn't of amusement at their appearance, though it easily could have been, were she not Gothic, but a result of Ebola cheekily grabbing her arse just then. As they got round the corner, Anthrax spun around and slapped her hand.

"You can look, not touch," she said with an only half stern face. "Until we get home at least."

"Yes, miss," Ebola grinned slightly and saluted. She hadn't even had the will to smile for years it seemed, but suddenly she wanted to do nothing but smile. It was strange, but she liked it.

She spun around on her feet before continuing walking, and saw the crap warlock and his assistant rough up an old lady for a bag of cakes. She shook her head and secretly skipped along inside, but hid such an abnormal bounce on her step on the outside, because, obviously, Goths do not skip nor bounce.

\- -

Despite her outlandish fashion sense Ebola was a modest lady. And such ladies do not kiss and tell about what happens between the sheets behind closed doors, not even to diaries or narrators of supposedly saucy stories about them. They are locked out on the other side of the door, left to listen on the other side and try to sneak a peak through the keyhole. There were moans and gasps and muffled cries of names and sudden yelps as teeth were sunk into pale skin and long scratches down both their backs and sloppy kisses with lips still stained with cum and vibrating inanimate objects held against body parts til she felt like she was going to explode and as she involuntarily arched her back and her arms flew everywhere something may have fallen off a bedside table and smashed into a million pieces but they would clean up later, maybe.

Afterwards Ebola just lay there in the black sheets of the double bed with decorative Victorian style black metal headboarding and large candle sticks on each side with black and red candles still burning and wax dripping down the sides like blood. She felt Anthrax creep closer for a… cuddle? Her sleepy body, half engulfed in post coital slumber mimicked the way Ebola's was curled up on the bed; the arch of her back, the angle she had bent her legs. Anthrax's face nestled in the base of Ebola's neck and her arms snaked around her belly, holding her tight, brushing against her chest.

She had done this before but this time it felt right. And it wasn't making Ebola silently sob at the weakness of her mind. She smiled, and fell asleep smiling. Even thought Goths do not smile. Ever.

But this time she had a reason to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> This is Old. from like 2006.  
> I reworked some parts of it because omg i can't believe i had said labia when i obvs meant clit. and then i fleshed out the filth a bit more since i now know a little more about filth and don't have to use quite as much imagination ha ha ha.  
> i was unsure of rating but went for explicit since there is some sex, even if it's brief (sorry to disappoint on the filth factor)  
> i might one day write an Actual Real Sex Scene from when they got home but this will do now. (it was originally even less)


End file.
